Draco, Abraxas, and the Big Adventure
by LynstHolin
Summary: When Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy go on holiday, they leave three-year-old Draco with his grandfather. Abraxas decides to use their time together to try to get Draco to appreciate the same sort of things that he does.


"I'm staying wif Gwanfaddah tonight?"

"_Grandfather_," Lucius corrected impatiently as he tied his cravat. "Tell him about the birthday party you went to yesterday, Draco."

"We had cake and dere was a pegasus and we went to da cinema, wif Muggles."

"How did you find the cinema?" Abraxas asked. He was sitting on the bed polishing the battle axe that hung above his headboard. He had a room that he used to store and display most of his weapons, but he liked to always have one near at hand.

Draco screwed up his face. "I didn't yike it. It was too yowd."

Lucius huffed. "_Like. Loud_. You're three years old, Draco. Stop speaking like an infant."

"Lucius, your pronunciation was rather... eccentric until you were eight."

"That's because I had two French grandparents, and it confused me. He's going to be made fun of by other children if he keeps talking like that." Lucius checked himself from every angle in Abraxas' full-length mirror. "Are you going to be all right alone with Draco? I know that child care is not your strong suit."

"I'm sure I will be able to handle a thirty pound boy," Abraxas replied drily.

Lucius and Narcissa were headed for a weekend getaway in Spain with their closest friends, and Draco didn't react well to being baby-sat by people he wasn't familiar with. When Abraxas had volunteered to help, Lucius had looked at him as if he feared his father was going senile, but had gratefully accepted the offer.

Narcissa came bustling in. "Are you ready yet?" she asked impatiently.

Lucius was frowning into the mirror. "Do you think I should keep my hair down? Maybe it would be better if I tied it back." He gathered his platinum tresses and pulled them behind his head, squinting at his reflection.

His wife sighed and rolled her eyes. "You look _fine_. We were supposed to leave an hour ago." She took her husband by the shoulders and steered him from the room.

Abraxas secured the axe to the wall above his bed with a sticking charm. "Well, Draco, what shall we do?" He turned to find that the boy was standing in front of the full-length mirror, preening himself just as his father had been doing moments before.

"Does my hair look all wight yike dis?"

Abraxas immediately knew how they would spend their weekend together.

...

"Punch me in the stomach as hard as you can," Abraxas told Draco.

"Muddah says it's not nice to hit."

"It's fine. I'm _asking _you to hit me. Come on, make a fist." Draco tucked his thumb inside his palm as he curled his hand. "Oh, no. You'll break your thumb if you punch someone like that." Abraxas took the tiny hand and worked the fingers into a proper fist. "Now, punch me." He didn't bother to tense up his stomach muscles, as he knew it wouldn't be a hard blow. Draco flailed his arm and barely tapped his grandfather. "I've gotten harder punches from kittens! We need to work on that."

Abraxas schooled Draco in the art of throwing a punch. The boy was well-coordinated, so getting him to understand how to use his weight (such as it was) as the force behind the blow was easy, but he had a harder time understanding the concept of protecting himself. "Use your other arm to block! You're leaving yourself wide open! Your opponent could get in a good hit."

Draco blinked up at Abraxas with those big, round eyes. "Someone wants to hit me?" He sounded incredulous, which wasn't surprising, really. The boy had not been hit once in his short life.

"When you're boxing, you'll have an opponent. You will try to hit him, and he will try to hit you."

"I don't want to get hit. Muddah says it hurts."

"It's just a part of the sport, Draco."

"Don't want to." Draco's eyes started filling with tears.

Oh, dear. Abraxas was still not good at dealing with crying people. "That's enough of that today. Do you want watch Pele take a dust-bath?"

The tears dried up immediately, and Draco beamed. "YES!" He took off out of the parlor as fast as he could on his short legs, headed for the conservatory with Abraxas following at a more dignified pace. When they were through the French doors and in the lush indoor garden, the cat-sized fosterling dragon put her front paws on the bars of her cage and squeaked. Draco let her out, and she galloped to the little sandbox that sat under a wrought-iron table, diving in. She rolled onto her back and wriggled ecstatically. Dragons loved dustbaths, which rid them of parasites and kept their scales shiny.

Pele was green and of an indeterminate breed, perhaps the result of interbreeding. The Ministry had confiscated her from an unscrupulous black-market dealer of magical creatures who had been under the impression that he didn't need to feed the animals in his custody. Pele would never become very big after being starved at such an early age, but at least she had lived.

Draco laid on the floor with his chin propped up on his hands, watching the dragon with a huge grin on his face. "Now, Draco, you know she's going to be leaving soon. She's going off to live with her own kind."

"Dwagons can't be pets," the boy recited dutifully.

"That's right. When people try to keep dragons as pets, it usually ends very badly. Remember that, Draco." Pele flew over to a window that looked out over the rear of the Manor's grounds. Hovering, she rested her paws on the glass and made a plaintive noise. "Do you want to go outside, girl?" Abraxas stood beside her, letting her settle on his shoulder. Beyond the wall that surrounded the Manor was a wooded hill with a shallow slope; it was also a part of the Malfoy holdings. When he was a boy, Abraxas has frequently 'climbed' it, pretending that he was a mountaineer trying to conquer Everest. He had even camped out at the 'summit' a few times.

Hmm... He wanted to lead Draco in activities that were, to his mind, properly masculine. 'Mountain-climbing' would be _perfect_.

...

Abraxas draped the purple satchel with the extension charm over Draco's shoulder. "You're in charge of that. It's very, very important." Draco lifted his chin proudly, doing his best to puff out his tiny chest. He could be so like his father, it was disorienting. Sometimes, Abraxas even found himself calling him Lucius. It was as if Abraxas had been given a chance to it all over again, and do it better.

Pele fluttered around them as they stood at the base of the hill, snorting happily at being able to fly in the open air. "Are we ready to go?" Abraxas asked. He had his walking stick, and he linked hands with his grandson.

Draco returned Abraxas' smile, not knowing that such a smile was as rare as a star ruby. "Weady!"

It was a lovely autumn day. The trees that swayed on the hillside still had most of their leaves of russet and orange, and the air held just a hint of smoke. On a day like this, Abraxas could forget that his years were just beginning to creep up on path he had cleared as a boy was still discernable, even though it had been a couple of years since he had been that way. It took them to a tumble of stones in a small ring that echoed the bigger, famous henge only a few miles away. About ten years back, Abraxas had come upon a group of naked, unbathed Muggles dancing around it, and had made it unplottable (after Obliviating the lot, and using a cleaning charm on them all for good measure).

"It's a castle!" Draco exclaimed happily when he saw the bluestones. Of course, the boy had to stop and play. Abraxas took the satchel from him and noticed that it rattled a bit more than he remembered. As his grandson battled goblins and trolls, he opened the bag and felt around inside, discovering a set of blocks, a tiny broomstick, a tin Quidditch team with all their colors worn off (a leftover from Lucius' childhood), a piece of Draco's security blanket (which Narcissa had cut into sections for convenience), a sack of marbles, five teddy bears (including a green and silver one that sang the Slytherin House song), a toy cauldron, a plush snake that was taller than Draco himself, a rock collection, the knobs off of a defunct wireless set, a wooden unicorn, and one empty Coca-Cola bottle that must have blown onto the estate during the last storm. Abraxas had no idea when Draco'd had the time and opportunity to put all that in the satchel. He had forgotten how much a small child could accomplish when not watched for even a second.

"Do you really need this?" Abraxas held up the Coke bottle.

"_Dat's mine_!" Draco bellowed.

"Thank you for clarifying that so... loudly." All right, then. The bottle went back into the satchel. "Come on, Draco. We should set up camp before it gets dark."

"I'm tired. Cawwy me." Draco wrapped his arms around his grandfather's knees and sagged bonelessly.

"You were just running about like a monkey. Walk." Abraxas started uphill, dragging Draco with him.

"I caaaaan't."

"I was tired when I was half-way up Everest, but I didn't stop. I not only summited, I slew that yeti that's in my bedroom, and recovered one of the most evil magical artifacts that has ever existed. You can do it, Draco."

"_Nnnnnnnnnnngggggggg_." There it was, the most horrendous, nerve-scraping sound in the universe: Draco whining. Narcissa kept assuring him that it was something that all children did, but Abraxas was quite sure he had never created such an unpleasant noise. Lucius certainly hadn't, and if he had tried... Well, that was the difference between being a father and being a grandfather, Abraxas supposed. He had been far tougher on Lucius than he ever would be with Draco. "_Nnnnnnnngggggggggggggggg._" Abraxas had once heard the cry of a banshee, and it wasn't half as awful.

"You can ride on my shoulders, just _stop_!" The whining ceased instantly. Abraxas was pretty sure that he had been played. But it wasn't as if carrying his grandson was difficult for him. Even at the age of fifty-eight, Abraxas was still in better shape than most men. The boy wriggled happily on his perch (awfully energetically for someone too tired to walk), humming and playing with Abraxas' hair.

Now that he was moving at his own pace, Abraxas reached the top of the hill quickly and found the flat area that he preferred for camping. The fire ring he had built a few decades ago was still there, and he had Draco pick up twigs while he gathered firewood. "There's nothing like building your own fire and cooking your dinner over it," he proclaimed. It would be even better if the meal they were going to eat was, say, a freshly-caught rabbit or a squirrel, but Abraxas had a feeling that hunting and butchering would not go over well with his pampered grandson. And if Narcissa found out... Abraxas feared no man, but enraged mothers terrified him.

"I haf to wee."

Abraxas led the boy a ways from camp. "Here. This will be the latrine area."

"Where's da pottie?"

"There isn't one. We're roughing it."

"But where do I wee?"

"On the ground." Abraxas hadn't realized that a three-year-old could look scandalized. "That's what men do when they're away from civilization and out in the wilderness." He scanned around him. "There. Use that hollow stump. It looks a bit like a commode." The word 'pottie' would never cross Abraxas' lips.

"_I want a pottie_."

Abraxas sighed. He hadn't wanted to bring the tent that the family used for attending the World Cup; that wasn't camping, as far as he was concerned. But it was a good thing he had packed it just in case, as it looked like an actual toilet was going to be required. He snatched Draco up and raced back to where their things were to extract the expansion tent (folded into a packet no larger than a handkerchief) from the satchel and set it on the ground. A murmured charm, and it popped up, a silver and black tent the size of the average garden shed. It was, of course, much bigger on the inside, with four beds and amenities like a bath tub. Which, by the time Abraxas brought Draco into the tent, was very much needed. Draco whined a bit about his wet condition, but mostly he looked at his grandfather reproachfully. "Sorry," Abraxas sighed as he set Draco in the tub. "Do you think we could keep this a secret from your mother?"

"I want more bubboes," Draco demanded.

"If I give you more bubbles, you don't tell your mother. Deal?" Draco's silence was bought with a wall of foam that rose over the edge of the tub. Pele played with the bubbles that dropped on the floor. It had been a long time since Abraxas had been in charge of a child's bath, and as he dried his grandson off, he marveled how unbelievable it was that this tiny body with its narrow chest and shoulders would someday turn into a man that looked much like Lucius. The smooth, spindly limbs and domed belly were absolutely perfect in their own way. It was almost a shame that children had to grow up and become lumpy, hairy adults, Abraxas mused.

Once Draco was dried off and dressed, the fire was laid. Abraxas knew how to make fire both with flint and with friction, but night was falling swiftly and he used his silver monogrammed lighter instead. He sharpened a couple of longer sticks with the knife he kept in his right boot and performed a fire-proofing charm on them, then pulled a sealed container from the satchel (a white plastic bowl and lid created by Muggles-non-magical folk did come up with some handy inventions). Inside were slices of beef that were just the right size to roast over an open fire.

Abraxas threw a couple of pieces to the dragon, then pushed a gobbet onto a stick that he gave to Draco "Hold it over the fire." The stick was plenty long, but Draco stood too far from the fire. "Get closer." Draco grunted as he tried to make his arms telescope outward. He arched his back a little, bringing the meat fractionally closer to the flames. "Closer. Take a couple steps forward." Draco shuffled his feet a centimeter or two. "There's nothing wrong with rare beef, but you have to at least get it warm."

Abraxas picked Draco up and tried to move him toward the fire, which led to the boy screeching and thrashing and throwing his stick to the ground where Pele helped herself to the meat. "_No fire! No fire!_"

A boy that was afraid of fire? That wasn't normal, was it? Abraxas had long thought that a propensity for low-level arson was a trait that every male child shared. "Fine. No fire. I'll cook for you."

As far as Abraxas was concerned, food just tasted better when cooked and eaten outdoors. He had done so on every continent and in more than sixty countries (some of which no longer existed). He had eaten monkey meat, beetles and grubs, sea urchin, kraken, and a few things he couldn't identify. Judging from the dubious look that Draco was giving the beef on his plate, he would not be following in his grandfather's footsteps. "It's burnted," he complained.

"The burned part is good for you. It'll put hair on your chest." Draco squinted down the front of his shirt suspiciously.

Abraxas reached into the satchel again and pulled out his military-issue tent; the satchel's mouth warped and stretched, then snapped back into shape once the tent-poles were out. Draco watched wide-eyed as Abraxas drove the stakes into the ground and raised the tent. "What's dat?"

"Where we're going to sleep." The satchel bulged and stretched again as he pulled out a couple of sleeping bags.

Draco's forehead creased. "People sleep in beds. Mother says."

"People can also sleep in sleeping bags. That's why they're called sleeping bags."

"But Mother says we sleep in _beds_."

"It's what men do when they're roughing it in the wilderness. It keeps us tough. Don't you want to be a rough, tough man like your grandfather?"

Draco considered it for a moment. "Father sleeps in a bed. With mother."

Well, Abraxas knew a lost cause when he saw one. He had managed to pass his coloring onto his son and grandson, but other than that, the two of them were so much like Elenore-amazing, considering that neither of them had gotten the opportunity to get to know her. If there was an afterlife, Abraxas knew his late wife was there feeling very pleased with herself. "You win, Elenore," Abraxas said wryly. He set a hand on Draco's head. "As do you."

Inside the tent, Draco was mildly scandalized again at being put to bed in his underpants ("Pajamas are for civilization," Abraxas told him.). The plush snake, all five teddies, the blanket remnant, and (for who knows what logic) the rock collection had to be arranged on the bed next to Draco. Pele curled herself around the boy's head; Abraxas performed a fire-proofing charm, as the dragonling sometimes shot sparks out her nostrils when she snored.

"Read da book," Draco demanded. Thank Merlin Abraxas had thought to pack the worn copy of 'B Is For Broomstick' that had also been Lucius' childhood favorite. He sat on on the corner of the bed, adjusted his spectacles, and began to recite the story that he still knew by heart, turning the book around so that Draco could see the pictures. By the time he got to 'G is for Garden Gnome,' the boy's deep, regular breathing let him know that Draco was asleep.

...

Abraxas was awoken by two ravens arguing, and was immediately aware of the small, warm body snuggled up next to him under the covers. Draco slept with his security blanket held up to his nose. Abraxas knew that the boy frequently crawled into bed with his parents; this was the first time he had done so with his grandfather.

Just laying there listening to a child breathe, feeling the way his little rib-cage expanded and contracted- it was something that Abraxas had never done before. When Lucius had climbed into his bed, he had sent him back to his own room. Remembering this made Abraxas catch his breath with sadness. If only he could have allowed himself to give his son the affection that he had craved so badly, things would have been much different, Abraxas was sure. Lucius would never have been taken in by that wretch Tom Riddle. Sometimes. Abraxas came upon his son staring bleak-eyed at the Dark Mark on his left arm. "Is it moving?" he would ask; "Has it become darker?" Lucius didn't believe that Lord Voldemort (oh, how sickening that pretentious name was) was gone forever. Abraxas thought of the perfection of his grandson, and imagined a Dark Mark disfiguring that skin, like some sort of demonic graffiti... _I would die before that happened, _Abraxas vowed.

Draco stirred and blinked his eyes. "Gwanfaddah? What are we going to do today?" Pele stretched, yawned, and hiccuped out a few sparks.

Abraxas thought about the ruins on the other side of the hill, some sort of medieval defensive structure. "Do you want to see another castle?"

"Yes!" Draco bounced out of bed, startling Pele into flight. He was ready to leave already, dancing from foot to foot.

"First, we put clothes on. We're not _that _far from civilization. Then we have breakfast. Think you can wait that long?"

"No!" Draco exclaimed, laughing. When Abraxas got out of bed in just his boxers, Draco looked at the scars on his torso curiously. "You have stwipes. Where did you get them?"

"I earned them," Abraxas replied as he knelt down to help Draco dress. So the boy would never be an outdoorsman. He would never eat an animal he killed himself. He would certainly never follow in his grandfather's footsteps and sleep tied in a tree to be safe from crocodiles, or use a machete to hack away at Venus flytraps big enough (and willing to) eat a man whole. It didn't matter in the least. After tying Draco's shoes, Abraxas gave him another quick smile. "Let's have another wonderful adventure together."


End file.
